


nothing but a man

by kathleenfergie



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Love Never Dies - Lloyd Webber, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-01
Updated: 2013-10-01
Packaged: 2017-12-28 02:38:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/986684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathleenfergie/pseuds/kathleenfergie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How long, he mused, had he longed for this? To have his angel of music in his arms, but not as his student. Erik was confused. One year ago she was afraid to touch him, only laying her hands on him for those two last kisses, and now all he could feel was her warmth upon him. To Christine, though he felt cold, at least he was tangible and real. Oneshot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	nothing but a man

**Author's Note:**

> Okay. So. This is my first M rated oneshot. Implore me for a moment, please. It's mostly ALW compliant but I tried to slip in some other version's facts that I had learned from other fics. I've written a oneshot similar to this based on the song Beneath A Moonless Sky from LND, but this one is different just because it has more depth and a lot more words. Please don't let the fact that my idea came from the sequel (it's horrible I know, but I can't look away) take away from the reading experience, just think of it as a continuation of POTO. Also Christine's openness with Erik is just sort of how I see her acting out of freedom after a year of oppression. So yeah, I don't know. Also I really like this one so I'll be sad if you don't. On that note, enjoy.  
> I apologize for my use of French, if it was incorrect. Raised on Quebecois, I learned it quite differently than some.

Christine looked up towards the sky and found it void of any light, a new moon darkening the eve of her wedding night.

It was late to be stealing out to the stables and be paying the man to keep quiet about her night escapade. He saddled her a horse and she was on her way. She only prayed that she could be back before morning, before Raoul could wake up and find her gone. She was past the point of caring, however, as she was on her way to _him_. The ride was silent, only the sound of light rain and hooves against the ground could be heard.

The house she found herself in front of was too grand for one who was supposedly in hiding, but she did not begrudge the man his style. The address had been given to her by Christine's faithful foster sister, who, with her mother, had also disappeared on the night of Don Juan. One knock and the door creaked open unaided, no doubt by his own tricks. Christine entered into a dark hallway, and she left her coat on the banister of a nearby staircase. Surprisingly, she felt no fear while she wandered through his dark manor. As she walked a little farther, she found an open parlour room with a fire blazing, to which she entered, noticing it to be empty.

Christine stood facing the fire, her back completely to the door. It warmed her after a ride out in the rain. She stood there for some time before a voice rang out in the dark room.

'Good evening, Christine.' He said, an even tone in his voice. She knew that it masked his rage, however. Behind his calm demeanor always stood his Phantom side, the monster she witnessed after Don Juan.

'Hello, Erik.' She said quietly, still facing his fireplace, her hands clasped in front of her. To him she looked older, more refined, but he could see that she now walked with the training of a Vicomtesse-to-be. That thought darkened his gaze. She was no longer his songbird, his angel. She was the _boy_ 's toy to play with, to prance around balls and parties.

He also noticed that with that refinement came an air of despair. She looked completely unhappy.

'I trust Antoinette was rather forthcoming with my location?' He asked, stepping closer to her turned back.

'Actually, Madame was not the one to relay the information. At my request, her daughter learned how to pick locks. One learns how to work for themselves when the rest of the world works against you.' She spoke in a low voice, but the last phrase was spoken with a seething tone, anger seeping into it. It surprised him; in their relationship, he was the dark and she was the shining light. This turn of the tables unnerved him.

'It's sounding like your boy is treating you sublimely, my dear.' He was right behind her now, his breath tickling the back of her neck. 'I see you've been trained quite well, also. Your regal submission is _outstanding_.'

Erik had noticed that she held herself different than when he knew her as a performer. Now she stood with her chin lowered, eyes downcast, back straight but not too proud. Her breathing had changed as well. She no longer breathed low with the training of a Prima Donna—she inhaled and only her chest rose, her shoulders moving along with her breath. It angered him slightly that it had only taken a year for his teachings to be white washed with those of the aristocracy.

She exhaled and he placed a hand on her shoulder. Her muscles tensed and she inhaled sharply, her chest rising once more. She turned her head slightly, looking at him through lowered lashes and he thought he could see tears pooling.

'How easy was it, pray tell, for you to forget all of my teachings, my dear Vicomtesse?' He seethed.

'One learns fast when they are punished for their insolence.' She whispered, not wanting to tell him of her time in the de Chagny household. His hand on her shoulder tightened, his grip fueled by hatred.

'Punishment?' He asked.

'Solitude, mostly. Sometimes the other women shamed me and leaked gossip of me to the newspapers.' She paused. 'Raoul was once ordered not to speak to me for a week. The worst lessons were the ones that involved breathing in the corset. Breathing low stresses that I could be with child.' She breathed out a sigh. 'A Vicomte marrying a Prima Donna is scandalous enough, don't you think?' Christine let out a watery chuckle and his grip loosened. Christine had no idea where this freedom of speech was coming from. Normally, she would have never discussed such inappropriate things with her teacher.

Finally after moments of silence, he spoke.

'Why are you here, Christine?' It was barely audible, a low whisper, as if he was frightened of the answer. 'Why did you result to thievery to find a _monstre_ like me?'

'Erik, you are not a monster!' She said it with much conviction. 'I do not regret my actions after Don Juan, except that I left. I was delirious; I let Raoul take me away from you when all I wanted was to stay.' The tears did leak then, falling down her face as she finally turned to face him, the hand on her shoulder falling away. The white of his mask was tainted by the orange glow of the fire. 'I have spent a year without singing, Erik. They took away my music when they took me away from you.' She paused, not able to find her words. 'I am alone in their world, Erik. Even Raoul has come to realize his mistakes. He loves me, but I fear he still sees me as the young Swedish girl by the sea. He refuses to acknowledge our time at the Opera, but I cannot let it go!' Her voice had risen and she was reaching new heights of volume that her voice had not experienced in a year. 'I'm suffocating, alone in the dark without you, Erik. I can't stay in that life for much longer or I'll die, I will, whether it by my hand or someone else's.'

She had to steel herself from wrapping her arms around him, not knowing what his response would be. She was frightened; of going back home to Raoul, of Erik, and of herself.

'Christine, you cannot just up and run in the middle of the night, thinking that your disappearance will go unnoticed. What will you do when your _boy_ comes looking for you? Do you think that he'll stop searching? Not until I am dead, my dear Vicomtesse.' She hated how he used her title-to-be. Christine trembled under his gaze, and he placed one of his hands on her face, wiping away the tears that had begun to stain her cheeks. 'Oh, my _ange_. What did you hope to gain from me?' He asked, confusion seeping into his voice, mixed with a hint of exhaustion.

'Sanctuary, Erik. The kind you used to offer me at the opera house when I was a little girl without her father.' She stopped for a moment, unsure of herself. Christine wanted to say so many things to him, like how she had felt so very whole when they made music, that she felt alive, but how could she say such things to a man who thought the very idea of life to be disgusting? This was the man who slept in a coffin at night to remind him of his fate. She continued, although warily. 'I want to feel alive again, Erik. I don't want to act like I don't hear what people say about me as I pass by. I'm lonely and scared of this world. I am not a Vicomtesse, as much as Raoul would want me to be.' Christine started to cry heavily again, and she boldly wrapped her arms around the stiff man in front of her.

Tentatively, Erik did the same, resting his chin upon her soft mass of curls, which had been pinned up, as opposed to how it had been at the opera. He found that he didn't like it, but it was silly to be thinking of something like _hair_ at a time like this.

How long, he mused, had he longed for this? To have his _ange de la musique_ in his arms, but not as his student. Christine was holding him with utmost trust, fully enveloped in his arms, void of any fear. Erik was confused. One year ago she was afraid to even touch him, only laying her hands on him for those two last kisses, and now all he could feel was her warmth upon him. To Christine, he felt rather cold, but that at least proved he was real, tangible, and still with her after all the time that had passed.

'Raoul tried to tell me that you were dead, that _la Sureté_ had found your body along the banks of the Seine _._ ' Her breath hitched, and he felt her chest contract against his. 'I could not believe that you were dead. I refused to. I locked myself in my room, crying for days at the idea that you could be gone from me forever.' She paused, looking up into his yellow eyes, finding them as piercing as always. 'It wasn't until I sent a letter to the Girys explained my grief that I found out the truth, Erik.' _  
_

'He lied to you, then, your boy?' He said aloud the words she would not speak. 'Well, then, has he shown you the _error of your ways_?' He mocked her, the malice written across his face. He forcibly removed himself from her and backed away.

'Erik, I have repented time and time again for my actions. God punishes me for what I have done, don't think I don't know that!' She cried. 'My father sent you as my angel of music, and in the past year I have asked his forgiveness every single day!' Christine sobbed, standing stricken in front of the very angel she spoke of.

'I see you are still a silly little girl, Christine! Your father did not send me, _your God_ did not ask this of me! If this is what you believe than you need to be taught about reality,' he shouted at her. It was unlike his harsh corrections as a teacher. His voice was raw and full of his terrifying Phantom qualities, the rage written clearly on his face.

'Do not treat me as a child for my beliefs, Erik. You have found your faith in music and creation while my faith rests in the hands of God and my father. I am a child no longer, and I shall not be treated as such!' As she spoke her last statement, she retracted farther from him and wiped the traitorous tears from her cheeks.

Erik repeated himself again.

' _Why_ are you here, Christine? I wish not to argue theology with you any longer.' He took in the sight of her and stared hard. 'Why have you come into the monster's lair once more? Does it give you _joy_ to see me secluded away from society once more?' He was no longer shouting; his quiet, mocking tone ringing through the tense air. 'Have you come to stare at the beast?' Christine looked upon the man in front of her, of the crazed look in his eye.

'These days the only monster I believe in, Erik, is that of my fiance. You are more of a man in my eyes than he is.' She smiled grimly as she told him this, turning back to the fire. 'We are to be wed tomorrow, Erik. I cannot go back. I cannot marry Raoul, I will not do that to him or to myself.'

Erik laughed bitterly, leaving Christine both frightened and confused.

'Even now, Christine, you cannot hide things from me. I have known of your nuptials for the past year.' He moved towards her. 'I am no man, Christine, and never shall I be one. I simply will be the only monster who will have loved you truly until death.' He pulled his mask off, an act that he would have never done in the past, and forced her to turn and look at him. 'My mother never loved this face, Christine, how can I expect you to?'

Her eyes only widened slightly - out of surprise, not out of fear. For Erik to willingly show his face was a rarity. She reached out a hand and placed it against the deformity, running her fingers along the raised veins and scarred flesh. She repeated what she said after Don Juan. 'This haunted face holds no horror for me now.'

Erik gripped her wrist, keeping her hand against his face. 'Then what of my soul, Christine? Is it not still distorted?' He asked, finishing what she had once said.

She shook her head slowly and he leaned into her palm. 'Erik,' she began, her voice barely above a whisper. 'You must know that I love you.' Her face glowed with warmth and anticipation at her confession, a blush creeping onto her cheeks. 'I have loved and yearned for you, and I cannot keep it inside any longer. I am alone without you, Erik.'

'Oh, Christine, stop.' His voice filled with anguish. 'Do not lie to me now. You are to be married tomorrow; you shall be a Vicomtesse. Please do not delude yourself, my _ange_.'

Christine could tell he did not mean his words. She did not know if it was because he did not wish to hear what she said, or if he had been waiting for it his whole life.

' _No_ , Erik, I will not! I will not hide in the dark any longer. I have a voice and I shall use it!' Conviction rang in her voice once more as she tried to make him understand. ' _Say you'll share with me one love -_ '

' _Stop!_ '

' - _one lifetime! Say the word and I will follow you!_ '

'Christine, you know not what you say!'

' _Anywhere you go, let me go too, that's all I -_ '

'You ask too much, Christine.'

' _\- ask of you_.' And with that last line, Christine leaned in and kissed him.

It was unlike the kiss after Don Juan. It was hungry, heated, and passionate. There was no hesitation or doubt in her mind that this was what she wanted. After being stunned by her actions, he responded, kissing her with the same heated fervor.

 _Yes,_ he thought, this was what he had pined for, had written arias and operas for - for this passion and love. Letting go of her wrist, he grasped her shoulders and pulled her even closer to him, crushing her body against his. She moulded herself to his body and wrapped her arms around his neck.

 _I love you_ _,_ she murmured over and over again against his mouth. He seemed to breath _yes_ against hers, but she could not tell.

No longer wanting to continue this in his sitting room, Erik put one arm around Christine's back, and the other under her knees, lifting her into his arms. He began to carry her up the stairs. She gasped at the sudden movement, but Erik's lips never left hers.

He carried her up the stairs and then down a dimly lit hallway that seemed to twist and turn, reminding Christine of the journey to Erik's underground home. He stopped at an unopened door, which Erik swiftly unlocked, bringing Christine further into what she assumed was his bedchamber. The only time they disconnected was when he set her down so she could catch her breath.

Looking around, Christine noticed papers strewn every which way, and there was a fire already lit like the one in his sitting room. She looked to Erik, who had removed his velvety overcoat, leaving him in a loose white shirt and breeches. When he had lost his shoes, she did not know, but the sight of him barefoot was foreign to her.

He advanced on her and pulled her face to his once more, continuing his assault on her mouth, ravishing her with kisses. As he did this, his hands left her face and moved to her bodice, ripping the outer dress away until it pooled around her feet, leaving her only in her corset, chemise, and pantaloons. Christine's own hands traveled down to his shirt, pulling it out of his breeches so that he could remove it. Where this wantonness came from, she did not know. The removal of his shirt caused Erik to disconnect from her again, but not for long.

Christine had learned about this act in her Viscomtesse teachings, had learned about a woman's duties to her husband, and she had listened to the scandalous gossip of the women who resided in the de Chagny household. All of that could not have prepared her for this, though, as she found herself suddenly nervous, but she did not let it show, continuing to kiss the man who had once been her teacher.

'Christine,' Erik moaned, to which she gave a gasping 'yes.'

'Christine, I love you.' As he said it, she smiled against his lips. He turned her around and began to untie the strings of her corset. The sharp pulls of the strings matched Christine's hitching breaths. At last her corset came loose, and Erik removed it along with her chemise, leaving her breasts free.

Erik spun her once more, taking in the sight of her body. He pushed her gently backwards, causing her to fall to the bad. As soon as she was lying down, Erik ripped her pantaloons down her legs, and at last she was fully naked. Christine was breathing quite heavily after all the sudden movements, and her breasts moved with the steady rhythm of her inhales and exhales. Erik eyed her hungrily and quickly pulled off his last piece of clothing - his breeches.

Christine had never seen a naked man - not even during quick changes at the opera - and the sight of Erik's thin, yet strong, body stirred a longing within her. She called his name and reached out for him. He obliged, coming down towards her, but instead of her lips, he caught one of her nipples in his mouth, massaging it with both his hand and tongue. Christine gasped, having never felt pleasure like this before. Christine was too caught up in her own arousal to notice him switch breasts. He then returned to her mouth, catching her in another passionate kiss.

Christine placed her arms around him once more, holding onto his shoulders, fingers splayed as she grasped his shoulders tightly. Erik was completely ravishing her and Christine felt that she had never felt happier. It felt right, like this was the thing that she had longed for the past year. It wasn't until Erik settled himself between her legs that she felt herself growing afraid. She knew that he would be gentle, but she knew there would also be pain. She assured herself that the pain would not last forever, though.

And oh, there was pain. As he entered her, Christine whimpered against his shoulder. Erik whispered his apologies to her, kissing a stray tear away. He let her grow accustomed to the feeling of him before he slowly began to thrust back and forth. His speed grew, and soon they were both panting. Erik gripped her middle tightly, and Christine predicted there would be marks from the sheer force he was displaying.

Erik peppered Christine's neck and breasts with kisses, sending jolts of pleasure throughout her. Erik's movements had quickened even more, along with his breath, and Christine found the movement to create a feeling of elasticity inside her. She arched her back, feeling as though at any moment she would snap. Finally, she let out a cry as a feeling of pure happiness passed through her.

After another moment, the same happened with Erik, and Christine felt his warm seed spill within her as he collapsed on top of her in exhaustion. For a short time he remained there, no sound coming from the both of them but their heavy exhales. After, Erik rolled away from her, moving to lay beside her in the bed. Although a fire was blazing, Christine found herself to be cold, and Erik noticing this, pulled a blanket across the both of them. Christine turned to look into his yellow eyes, and she stoke his face lazily, kissing him one last time before she drifted asleep.

* * *

Christine dreamed of beautiful things. She could not quite recall what it was that she dreamed, but she could remember herself standing on the shores of the sea back in Sweden. However, as her red scarf was carried away in the wind, it was not Raoul who charged into the see to reclaim it, but Erik. Christine woke smiling.

As she awoke, she noticed that her hand was no longer resting on Erik's face, but on the cool sheets. She opened her eyes to find herself alone in his bedchamber. The fire had long since gone out, but from the dim light creeping through the curtains, she knew it to be morning. The bed was empty and she wondered where Erik was. Standing, she wrapped a sheet around her body as she walked over to the window, drawing apart the heavy curtains. It looked like a cold morning as the rain continued to pelt down on what was supposed to be her wedding day. Christine turned back to the empty, paper strewn room, the evidence that Erik had been there gone. Her ripped clothing had been replaced, and a new set was draped over a chair, along with a simple white day dress.

How cruelly ironic was her angel, Christine thought. He had left no note, only the clothing for her to dress in. As she looked to the window again, she noticed her horse still waiting patiently under he tree she had tied him to, as she had forgone trying to locate Erik's stable, if he had one. She had no idea of the fate of his beloved Caesar.

As she dressed, Christine began to cry. She was both upset and angry, at herself and Erik. How could he treat her like this? The harsh realization that he had left her for good hit her, causing her weeping to worsen into sobs. She left the cold bedroom and made her way to the front entrance hall with a minute sliver of hope left at the idea that Erik would be there, waiting for her in the sitting room. She discovered that to be empty as well, and as she retrieved her cloak from the banister, Christine called out his name. It echoed in the darkness of the hall and she sobbed soundly. She did nothing to stifle her cries as she left the manor, clambering onto her steed. Her hair had fallen from its pins during their love making and her curls were weighed down by the solemn rain. The cold water poured onto Christine's face as she led the horse, the water droplets washing away her tears as they came.

She numbly steered the horse back to its home, the cold of the rain seeping into her bones. The horse seemed to know her destination as she had no recollection of the journey to the de Chagny household. All the way along her tears did not cease and as she arrived in front of the gates of her fiance's home, she let a cry of anguish at the thought of marrying him now, although she knew it was what she must do.

That was the state the servants found Christine in - rain-sodden and numb, staring blankly at the manor. She did not remember the events afterword, only vaguely recalling that she had been placed in fresh bed cloths and under many blankets. She remembered Raoul coming to her side, asking why she had gone out. In her delirium, her voice was hoarse and fever stricken.

'I was in Perros.' She lied to his face. 'I prayed to my father to bless us.' Christine felt shame when she remembered her words, but Raoul had kissed her hands and sighed in relief at her safety, suspecting nothing. Not of his Little Lotte.

They did not end up marrying that day, as Christine slipped into a week long fever. She only thought of Erik, and she longed for him in the same manner that she had in the last year. The only difference was that this time it caused her pain.

Christine married Raoul the week after her fever subsided and she went through the ceremonies blindly. She smiled and spoke when propriety called for it, but she was silent all other times. Raoul made love to her in the dark on their wedding night and she barely felt a thing.

When the news came that Christine was with child, she wept in private, for she truly did not know who's child was within her womb - Erik or Raoul's. The pregnancy was very trying and the baby came a whole month early. It was a sickly little boy whom Christine adored so very dearly right from the start. He was named Gustave Philippe de Chagny, and he was her world. Her new, small _ange de la musique._

And she loved him.

_Fin._


End file.
